


A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words (but there's still a thousand more left to say)

by GoddessofBirth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Because I'm all about the kitchen sex, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Photography, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessofBirth/pseuds/GoddessofBirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as he snaps the photo, Ian snatches the phone from him and starts typing.  JR rolls his eyes and holds his hand out.</p>
<p>“Back.”</p>
<p>Ian waves him off.  “Eat your food.  What's the point of you posting how I lured the hunter with home cooked food if it isn't true.”</p>
<p>“I'm not post – We are not posting that.  Ian -”  The man in question dances back from JR's quick grab attack and triumphantly hits send.</p>
<p>“Oh yes we did.  Well, you did.  The fans are gonna eat it up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words (but there's still a thousand more left to say)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cedelede](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedelede/gifts), [TheFriskyFirelily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFriskyFirelily/gifts).



> For Dani and Cede. Because they get it.
> 
> Based off of this photo and tweet: https://twitter.com/iamjrbourne/status/308074813493235712/photo/1
> 
> Needless to say, this is entirely a work of fiction. It never happened. It was born entirely from my sordid imagination.

 

As soon as he snaps the photo, Ian snatches the phone from him and starts typing. JR rolls his eyes and holds his hand out.

 

“Back.”

 

Ian waves him off. “Eat your food. What's the point of you posting how I lured the hunter with home cooked food if it isn't true.”

 

“I'm not post – _We_ are not posting that. _Ian_ -” The man in question dances back from JR's quick grab attack and triumphantly hits send.

 

“Oh yes we did. Well, _you_ did. The fans are gonna eat it up.”

 

“Yippee,” he deadpans. He's not like the younger cast members, who joke about sleeping with one another, and practically hump each other in front of the TV cameras. He doesn't mind the interviews and the red carpets, but he generally likes to keep his personal life personal. He's spent a terrifying hour on Tumblr – Dylan grinning gleefully over his shoulder – and _no thank you_. Half of the photos that show up on his twitter are from Ian stealing his phone and making up tweets, because Ian has no sense, or more to the point, doesn't care. The other half, well, that's from JR being drunk. No one should trust him with a camera phone when he's drinking. Luckily Ian isn't _reckless_ ; he generally stows JR's phone far away before he can do anything truly stupid.

 

This time it's Ian who rolls his eyes as he reaches over JR's shoulder to grab his own plate. “You act like I post photos of us half-naked. It's dinner. Nothing incriminating. _Dear_. _”_

 

Ian half-naked is always an interesting proposal, and JR gets distracted by it just enough that Ian's wolfed down most of his taco before he picks the argument back up. “They don't need incriminating. They can make that up on their own.” If he ever sees another porn manip of Hoechlin and Dylan again – Jeff thinks he's _hilarious_ when he sends them mass text attachments – it will be too soon. Ian picks his taco up for him and shoves a bite in JR's mouth in a blatant maneuver to shut him up.

 

“Nobody's paying attention to us. We're too _old_ for things like that. Well -” he smirks, “-you're too old. Besides, everyone thinks I'm maaadly in love with Holland.”

 

“Old? Really.” JR swallows his mouthful and carefully sets his plate down. “Is that what you think?” Ian's already putting his plate down, too, the amusement in his expression tinged with familiar anticipation. JR reaches out and hooks a finger through the stretched out hole in Ian's collar and tugs him closer. “I'll show you old.”

 

He widens his stance so that when he tugs again, sharply enough that Ian is pulled just slightly off balance, Ian's stumble brings him smoothly into the V of JR's thighs. “Who's old again?”

 

“You.” A hand skims underneath the back of his shirt, rucking it up so that the cool of the granite counter top presses into his skin. “Terribly...terribly....old.” Teeth flash white in Ian's face as he leans in to nose along JR's jaw.

 

“Hmm...” He fists the material of Ian's shirt in two hands and jerks up, forcing Ian to relinquish his own hold so that JR can pull it over his head. He balls it up and throws it somewhere to the side, freeing his hands to skim up Ian's stomach and feel the muscle bunch and jump in reaction. “See, that's funny. Because that is definitely _not_ what you were screaming last night. That sounded more like _fuck...fuck..._ please, _JR...fuck_. With a few _harders, fasters,_ and _god, I love your dick_ , thrown in.” Ian's lip gives perfect and sweet between JR's teeth, and he nips just this side of too hard, ripping a groan from Ian.

 

Not that Ian has been passive this entire time. His hands are busy at JR's belt buckle, undoing it and then the button of his jeans. The zipper goes with barely a whisper, and then he's sliding his hand inside and pulling JR's dick out. They both pant through that, foreheads pressed together.

 

Ian laughs, broken and breathless, when JR bucks into his hand. “What can I say? Your dick is very convincing.”

 

JR slips his hands down the back of Ian's sleep pants, palms his ass and drags their hips together in a slow grind. “Just my dick, then?”

 

“Well, your hands...your hands aren't bad, either.” His eyelids slide to half-mast, and he twists his wrist quick and tight. It's enough to have JR dropping his head to Ian's shoulder, mouth open and gasping. He mouths at the skin, then turns so he can drag his teeth across the curve where Ian's shoulder meets his neck.

 

“And your mouth...can't say I have any complaints about it...it...” JR sucks hard, stopping just short of leaving a hickey that will get them dirty looks from makeup, and grins in pure pleasure when Ian starts fumbling his words “...it, either.”

 

He flips them, pinning Ian against the counter and reaching behind himself to grab his shirt and ruck it over his head. Ian leans in while JR's hands are still trapped in the fabric and tongues his nipple, and JR's dick twitches and beads with pre-cum in response. Ian spreads it over the tip with his thumb, then lightly runs his nail through the slit, and through his sudden struggle to get his _damn shirt off_ , JR hears Ian hum in satisfaction at the broken sound he makes.

 

“All I'm saying,” Ian says conversationally, in denial of the way the words gasp out of him like gut punches, “is that it's a good thing Chris and Peter haven't shared a real scene yet. Because I'm pretty sure it would just end with Peter offering to comfort Chris in his grief. And by comfort, I mean fu -”

 

JR _finally_ gets free and he curls his fingers into the waistband of Ian's pajama pants and yanks, cutting off his monologue and getting them far enough down his thighs that his dick is freed. JR licks his bottom lip. “Much better.” Ian's dick is already leaking, and JR trails his fingers over the head, then sucks them clean. Ian hisses and shakes – from the picture, from the sensation, from the fact JR is running his tongue around the shell of his ear as he kicks his jeans the rest of the way off.

 

“Like you like this,” he gravels low, “Keep you like this if I could.”

 

“My, my,” Ian responds, the attempt at teasing ruined just a bit by the way he's rutting up against the divot of JR's thigh, and the way his head drops back when JR traps his hands against the counter top. “Imagine what kind of pictures _those_ would be.”

 

“We can add them to the rest of the collection.” JR might not want his private life splayed across social media, but that doesn't say anything about his actual addiction to taking photos. Especially photos of Ian like this, of JR with Ian like this. Ian likes to flirt with the publicity game, but they know it's the unseen photos that make JR the truly reckless one.

 

He squeezes tighter around Ian's wrists as they rut restlessly, hips growing frantic as they work against each other. “Why is it,” he groans, then bites into Ian's shoulder – _fuck Wardrobe_ – licks at the red, and continues, “that there's never lube when I want it.” One day they'll be smart enough to start stashing packets in every room of their apartments, but today is not that day.

 

“We could move to the bedroom.” The suggestion is half-hearted, and he can tell by the tone of Ian's voice that he has no interest in stopping, even for the thirty seconds it would take to relocate.

 

“Maybe for round two.” Or maybe not. JR likes fucking Ian in the kitchen, in the living room, in a dark corner on the set between takes. He likes the bedroom, too, that goes without saying, but there's nothing quite like meeting each others eyes in innocuous spots and knowing they're both remembering the sounds they made as they fucked.

 

So no lube, and no moving for now. Instead he lets go of one of Ian's wrists to get a hand between them, wraps his fingers tight around both their dicks and begins stripping them hard. Which is good, so, so good, but then gets so much better when Ian's free hand joins him. He links their fingers together, and the rough of Ian's palm adds just the right contrast that JR is gasping and shoving and the counter is probably leaving a long lined bruise across the small of Ian's back, but Ian is twisting and writhing and cursing just as hard -

 

JR fists the hair at the back of Ian's neck, holds him steady for a filthy-wet kiss. Tastes his teeth and his tongue and the spicy sweet spices from the tacos. Keeps tearing at his mouth even as their rhythm starts to stutter and the kiss turns more sloppy than skilled, until it's more sharing air and whimpered profanities.

 

Ian breaks first, his mouth falling open and his eyes falling shut and a broken _JR_ flying between them. He freezes, thrusts once, then twice, into the tight channel of their hands, and then he's coming. Shaking apart and curling his body into JR's, clawing into his shoulder to keep himself upright.

 

JR milks him through it, jerks Ian's head back up to reclaim his mouth, and feels his belly tighten as his own orgasm starts to tear through him. He whites out a little from the intensity, and when the room comes back into focus, he's breathing shuddering gasps into the crook of Ian's neck. For a minute neither of them move, other than Ian petting a hand through the sweaty mat of hair on the back of JR's head, and then JR grunts and pushes himself upright.

 

Ian grabs his hand and brings it to his mouth; raises one eyebrow playfully at JR as he licks it clean. JR groans and leans in for a loud, lip smacking kiss, feels Ian smile into it, then heads to the sink to find a washcloth. Ian leans back on his elbows and watches, unconcerned, as usual, with both his nudity and the mess on his body. JR, as usual, finds it disgustingly attractive.

 

Before he brings the washcloth back and cleans Ian off, just so he can dirty him up again, JR snags his phone from the counter. Ian smiles, heavy lidded and deliberately provocative, as JR takes the photo. He looks exactly what he is – fucked out and blissed out – and JR doesn't waste time staring at the resulting photo.

 

That's for later.

 

Instead he puts the phone down, pads back over to Ian, and runs the washcloth over his stomach is careful, methodical strokes. Ian makes a happy, rumbling sound and closes his eyes, even as a smirk quirks his lips.

 

“I think I'll have to call you old more often. The return is _definitely_ worth the investment.”

 

JR just bites his left nipple, smirks right back at the red ring and the strangled yelp it produces, and doesn't wait any longer to drag Ian in the direction of the bedroom.


End file.
